


just a drop to drown you

by crimsxnflxwerz



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsxnflxwerz/pseuds/crimsxnflxwerz
Summary: Naruto drabbles.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Kudos: 23





	1. soft (hashimada)

**Author's Note:**

> Bunch of drabbles. Warnings will be in the summaries of each chapter. Will update relationship and tags with each chapter. Chapters aren't connected unless otherwise said.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little thing from Madara's point of view about Hashirama

His hands are _soft_.

When I run my fingers along the heartlines on his palm, the skin is smooth, unmarred. Of course the cuts and bruises have healed away, like they were never there to begin with. But I remember them, no matter how seamless the stitching is. I remember the blood, the fear in my chest constricting my lungs until my throat burned. He may not have scars, but I do.

His voice is _gentle_.

When his words coax me to sleep, finally, finally, after so long on my feet, so long forcing my eyes open, forcing my body to move, to fight. His words, they untie my armor, unwrap my mantle, leave me bare. My voice is rough, smoky almost. Like a fire, crackling and hot. His words are a cool, flowing stream, brushing against me dangerously, threatening to put me out, even if he doesn't mean to.

His body is _warm_.

When he pulls me close, his arms around me tight. I can feel his heart beating against his ribs, a soothing, melodical, rhythm. And when he presses me into bed, his heat reminding me of the sun baked sandstone by the shore. He's a hearth in the winter, bubbling lava under the sea. His heart melts mine, it truly does.

_His hands are so soft._  
Even when he strikes me.  
_His voice is so gentle._  
Even as his words tremble.  
_His body is so warm._  
Even as mine cools.

And I don't want to fight him.

Because he is the sun and I am the moon. And without his light I am nothing. And without his softness I am jagged. And without his gentle touch I am vicious. And without his warmth I am frigid. 

And without his love, I am loveless.  
For who could love someone like me.  
When they could love someone like him?


	2. my father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara Uchiha pov
> 
> warnings: child abuse, character death, patricide

When I was a boy, my father was vicious. 

He was a paranoid man, dark and brooding in his ways, unwilling or unable to change. 

My mother passed away shortly after my fourth brother had been born. And some part of me missed her dearly, but a larger part of me was jealous. Jealous that she no longer had to live with him. That she didn't have to cower in bed, waiting for him to come to her, in the night, his clothes still wet with blood, and his eyes just as red. 

As soon as she was gone, I was the next in line for him. I was his eldest, and I held the majority of his attention. It was expected of me to be strong, to suppress my emotions and be ready to take his place as clan head when he was gone. I was young, still a child, but war doesn't wait for your children to grow up.

Sometimes, when he was drunk enough after a brutal defeat, he would come to me, calling me my late mother's name. The first night he did that was a month after my mother had passed. He sauntered into our hut and found me sitting up, reading by candle light. He said her name, and I thought he was in some delusion, so I ignored him. But in the next moment, he had grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to wrap his other hand around my throat. I could hear him muttering something, but couldn't make it out over the sounds of my blood rushing against my ears and my heart pounding in my throat. He didn't beat me, just stared, like he was trying to remember something that could only be rediscovered in the lines of my face. I recollected myself and yanked out of his grip, storming off without looking back at him. He was probably too drunk to see me shaking.

After that night I knew to avoid him if we had just suffered any major casualties. I would gather up my brothers in their hut, their smaller bodies pressed up against mine like puppies hiding under their mother, and wait for the crackling footsteps to fall faint, and the stench of alcohol to dissipate. And even after it had fallen completely silent, I would sit and watch the tent flap. Waiting with bated breath for my father to rip it open and discover us cowering. 

It was no wonder that Tajima never awakened his mangekyou. I often think about it, looking back. The mangekyou is a powerful, but finicky manifestation of our kekkei genkai. Each one is unique in its appearance, responding to its users will and wants. But to activate it, something terrible must befall someone you love. And for Tajima, my vicious father, he loved no one. 

Sometimes, I would fear that it was in my blood, that lovelessness. But I met a boy by the river with shining brown hair and warm tan skin and eyes like the deep forest. And he made my heart feel full for the first time in my life. And he didn't do it out of family or obligation to the hierarchy, he did it because he could. Because he wanted to be close to me. In the purest possible sense. I was a lonely, injured animal, and he took care of me.

And Tajima. Tajima found out. He saw how I smiled when I thought he wasn't looking. He saw my cuts and stained tunics and frazzled hair. I knew I couldn't stay hidden forever.

He confronted me about it early one morning, while I was carving up fruits for Izuna. Tajima stood over me like a shadow, blocking out the sun.

"You're seeing someone." He said. 

"And what of it?" I said back, not bothering to look up at his menacing figure. If I didn't look, it bothered him. I handed a bowl of fruit pieces to Izuna. Izuna looked a bit afraid, but somehow managed not to flinch when our father spoke.

"If it gets in the way of training, consider it over." Tajima said, sounding a bit flustered at the disrespect I was showing him. "And maybe you should look at your elders when you're being spoken to, boy."

I remained silent as he walked off. Once he was out of earshot, Izuna let out a sigh. "How do you do it, Aniki?" He muttered. 

I looked at the bowl of fruit in his lap. It was wild berries and apples, the only thing within a few miles of camp. Hashirama wouldn't have any trouble growing fruit for me, but if I started bringing food back without explanation, then there would be trouble. 

"I just have to remember," I started, feeling a bit empty. "He doesn't respect me, and so I don't respect him."

"I wish it were that easy for me." Izuna sighed, popping a berry with his teeth. I looked, unfocused, into the dark cover of trees beyond the camp. 

_No you don't_, I thought. 

When I was a boy, my father was vicious.  
But I was worse. 

I was a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm. I was waiting for someone to pull the trigger, for the band to finally snap. 

And it came in the form of my youngest brother trembling under a pile of blankets, his clothing torn and his torso bloody. My eyes whirled to life, but a small, shaking hand on my arm drew me out of it.

"_Aniki_," he was shaking like a leaf, "please don't."

I patched him up. My father was nowhere to be found. So I went to the river where my heart waited. And I told him to consume me, but he was gentle instead. As we lay next to each other on the shore, sand and pebbles sticking to our damp skin, I turned to him. 

"I'm going to kill my father." I said. A silence weighed between us. He turned to me and said nothing, but his eyes warned me not to lose myself. I couldn't afford to.

The next time I saw my father, it was nearly sunset. He was standing just beyond our camps borders, staring off into the trees. I drew my sword, letting it scrape against the sheath just so he would hear. He didn't bother turning around. 

He said, "you're too young to lead them." 

"You don't know anything about me," I hissed. Readying my sword. I didn't dare shake, didn't dare let my voice shudder. I wasn't afraid. Not anymore. "You will never touch my brothers again. I'll make sure you never touch anyone ever again."

The world was dyed red as my eyes whirled to life. I raised my sword. 

Every time my sword hit his flesh, I was reminded of a time he hurt me, hurt my brothers, hurt our family. I was reminded of every time he pushed forward even though the clan was exhausted, even though we would only lose more people. I saw those terrified, contorted faces in my mind, the faces of the dead, and they drove my sword harder, and harder, until finally. 

Finally.

His body dropped unceremoniously. No final words, no desperate pleas. He just, fell. Hot blood pooled around him, seeping into my sandals, sticky and red. 

And all of a sudden there was a heat behind my eyes that I'd never felt before. My sharingan warped, spinning on its own, before reforming. I could feel a power like no other come to life in my eyes. It burned like a warning, and soon, it faded away.

I looked down at my father's corpse again, then slowly grabbed the back of his mantle and hoisted him up. I planted him against a tree, tossing his sword down in his lap. Someone would undoubtedly find him like this. And by then I would be ready. Ready to bring this war my father started to an end.

When I was a boy, my father was vicious.  
But I was worse.


	3. gekka bijin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hashirama and Tobirama have a chat
> 
> No warnings

"Did you know, this flower only blooms at night?" Hashirama said. The question was fairly rhetorical, considering that the science of flowers wasn't exactly pursued in any length at the time. They had a war to fight, after all. "People often equate it to a beautiful woman, too shy to blossom anywhere else but underneath the moonlight."

"Is it poisonous?" His brother asked, not looking up from his reading. Hashirama flinched at the question. His brother was nothing if not direct, at least. It wasn't very useful to know things about something that won't contribute to the war effort in some way.

"No, well, I'm sure if you eat it, it won't taste very good." Hashirama sighed. "Does it have to be poisonous?" The _for you to care_ was left unsaid, but not unheard.

Tobirama sighed. "Isn't there some paperwork or something that you should be doing?" 

"I think that it's important to look at the little things." Hashirama grinned, reaching out to touch a pot with dirt in it. As his chakra flowed into it, a flower pushed it's way from the dirt and blossomed in front of him. "Anyone would go mad if all they knew were death and anger. Something as simple as a flower can brighten your day, don't you think?"

Tobirama stopped his reading to look up at his brother with slant eyes. "I know that you have issues focusing, but making your inability into some inspirational speech is really pushing it."

Hashirama slumped down at the comment, feeling chastised. "You really are ruthless, otouto."


	4. it's just the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi's descent through Sasuke's eyes. 
> 
> Warnings: child neglect(?), blood, impled character death

"_Otouto_." 

The voice calls you awake, but your eyelids still feel so heavy. Just a few more minutes, you think, but after a moment, the voice comes again.

"You can't stay in bed forever, you know." A laugh. It sounds soft, gentle. No need for alarm, it's just your brother.

"Ita-nii," you whine and roll over, letting your eyes crack open just a bit. A stripe of sunlight falls over your face, making your vision fuzzy and unfocused. There's a boy standing at the sliding door to your room, open just wide enough for him to stick his head through. You think he's smiling, or maybe it's a trick of the light.

"Father went out this morning and he hasn't been back," your brother says. You think you hear some mirth to his words, but you can't be sure. "And mother went to the market, that means we have the house to ourselves."

You open your eyes wider at that, rubbing one as you struggle to sit up. You hear your brothers footsteps, almost ghostly in their quietness, approach your bedroll. When you finally blink your eyes open, he's sitting on the edge of the covers.

You think about your father's demanding voice the other day, about how your mother remained silent as he scolded and directed your brother to _stop hanging around that shisui_, to _start training harder for your clan_. That _you're already eleven and there's no excuse in that._ You know that you love your father, but sometimes it's very hard to see his kind heart under that armor. He doesn't even shed it for his family.

"Can we go out and see Shisui today, nii-san?" You say. Your voice is sleepy and a little unclear, but your brother has no problem making it out. 

"Well…" he looks thoughtful as he considers what to say. You think that he might say no, because of father, but you've seen how your brother looks at Shisui. Like he's the sun and your brother is a flower, blooming only in his light. 

You wonder what your father would be in that scenario. Maybe a storm cloud, threatening to take that warmth away, to crush the flower with it's wind and rain. 

"Yeah, I think he's free today." Your brother says, his voice going a bit quieter. You smile, because you're excited to see your brother be happy again. He hasn't been very happy at home, enough to leave for long hours and barely check in. You've really missed him. You think he understands you better than your parents do.

"I'll make us something to eat." He says, and stands up. When he gets to the door, he peers back and smiles. "Do you want orange juice, Sasuke?"

You nod, easily returning the smile. He slips out of the room. You look over at the window and see that the blinds are open a tiny bit, that having been what let the sunlight shine into the room. You yawn and stretch, the thought easily leaving your mind, replaced by thoughts of your brothers cooking. 

You slip into one of your jumpsuits you wear for training. It's a deep navy, almost black in the shade of your bedroom. Short sleeves and high collar, a trademark clan design. The Uchiha fan emblem embroidered on the back. Your mother sewed this one on herself, so you like to brush it with your fingertips when you reach around for your kunai pouch. 

In the kitchen, your brother has already steamed some rice halfway, so you watch him make little indents with a spoon and crack two eggs into them. Once the lid is back on, he turns to the wok and starts frying up some vegetables. You can smell the aroma of freshly cut peppers and onions from the garden drifting around. At the chabudai, you see your glass of orange juice, so you take a seat on the tatami mat next to it. 

"Did okaa-san teach your how to cook?" You ask, laying your head on the table, still feeling a bit drowsy. 

"She did, she told me it was an essential skill, knowing how to cook." He explained. "And Sasuke, don't drape yourself over the table like that, it's not polite."

You groan childishly and manage to sit upright. You pull the glass closer to the edge of the table and just hold it. The juice isn't very cold, but the glass still sweats in the sun-warmed room. You take a sip and the flavor is acidic, giving your tongue a kind of sweet tingling feeling, like waking up your taste buds. 

You're only six, but you manage to have a sort of nostalgia about orange juice. Your first orange juice was from a cup of orange slices that your mother made you. The slices were so soft, the segments popping open against your teeth and washing your mouth with the sweet, summer flavor. You remember very little else from then, but somehow the memory has stuck with you. 

Your brother has changed since your first orange. So has your father. You can't tell if the change is them or you. Were you just finally seeing them as they are? Your brother, uncomfortable with the pressures and responsibilities of the clan. Your father, cold and distant and unwilling to budge even in the security of his own home. 

Whoever changed, you wish they hadn't.

Your brother puts a bowl in front of you, a pair of chopsticks resting neatly on top. The smoky-sweet smell of pork and spice drifts around you. The bowl is mostly rice, with an egg nestled in the center. Thin slices of pork are fanned out on one side and the cooked veggies cluster together on the other side. You clasp your hands together.

"Itadakimasu," you say, picking up the chopsticks and clicking them together childishly. Your brother flicks your forehead as he sits down to your right. You whine, but otherwise dig in. You barely ever get to share a meal with your brother anymore, which makes this a special occasion. 

You want to file this moment away, never forget it, because it's just such a rarity. When you look at your brother, for the first time in a while, you see the lines of his face soften, if just a little. He looks so young, so different. You wonder if this is what he's supposed to look like. You wonder if he's so stressed all the time to keep you looking young and feeling unburdened. 

A few months later, when you hear about Shisui drowning himself in the river, you feel a deep, dark dread fill your stomach. Some say the curse of hatred claimed him. Others say he was meddling in affairs that he shouldn't have been. 

And other, quieter voices, say that his life was taken by his lover. But you've never seen Shisui with a woman. And no one in the clan has the mangekyou. Except for, except for,

Your brother.

You think of that time, a few nights before, when a storm was passing over the compound. The rain pounded on the roofs so fiercely that the sound of it drowned out every other noise, leaving the world muted and fuzzy. It was well past time to be asleep, but the rain kept you up, calling you out of your bed. You looked out the window and saw a figure. He was standing so still you almost didn't see him against the grey sheet of rainfall that blotted out all color. 

After a few moments you saw that he noticed you, and he climbed in through the window in the next second. You didn't scream, because you recognized your brother's anbu mask. Though you also recognized the coppery smell of blood that made you feel sticky and cold.

"Sasuke," he said, gripping your arms so lightly it's as if he's a ghost. You tried not to shiver. "You're awake."

It's then that you saw his eyes. His red, red eyes, with that dark, spinning pinwheel inside. Even then, you thought it unnatural, like some kind of corrupt vision, like some kind of nightmare. You reached up and brushed a tear away from the corner of his eye, and you smiled, but it felt sad even as you did it. 

"Nii-san, you're crying." His grip tightened on your arms. 

"Oh Sasuke," he laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. "It's only the rain."


	5. poppies (shiita)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi loves poppies
> 
> Note: this is shisui/itachi. I don't think they're related much. Maybe like distant cousins twice removed or something? And I like the idea that shisui is only half Uchiha.

Itachi reached down into the grass and plucked a poppy from the Earth. It was a brilliant red, with a darker middle, it's pedals curved inward, like a clam hiding from the sun. Itachi loved poppies. They were his favorite flower. It was unfortunate that he didn't often get to indulge in these moments, sitting in the sun and picking flowers. He just didn't have the luxury. 

But today was hot, and his father was nowhere to be found. He remembered something vague about a clan meeting, but it was all quite lost on him, so he'd pushed the memory away.

Besides, he was listening. And the world was saying that it wasn't a training kind of day. 

The clearing he crouched in used to be a training area. It was nice and secluded, covered on all sides by trees, and even at the very top of the clearing the branches had woven together so tightly it created a canopy of leaves and vines, blotting out the sun. It was such a nice place, that people started to come here without any intent to train, and so the hokage declared the space recreational, and opened up a new training grounds elsewhere.

Itachi couldn't say he was upset. This had been his training ground, but he was happy enough just existing in the space now, head empty except for the nature buzzing around him.

Itachi was seventeen now. And his training with shisui was going so well that even the clan head, his father, looked at him with some underlying fear in his eyes at times. Itachi was powerful, no question about that, but according to his parents, he was also quite unstable. 

It was why no one bothered him when he was out here, soaking in the greenery around him. They didn't want to disturb the little peace he managed to achieve in rare, short, bursts.

Well, no one except Shisui. 

Shisui held a special place in Itachi's heart. Itachi had always been a loner, only taking care to mind his baby brother, and being a bit cold around everyone else. It didn't help that most of his clan feared him, and he was known even outside the village as a vicious killer. So when Shisui made his first attempts to approach and befriend Itachi without any pushing or coercion behind the scenes, it came with no surprise that they bonded quickly. 

Shisui was powerful in his own right. He was renowned for his speed and agility, not to mention his own awakened mangekyou, the powers of which were kept a close secret. Shisui and Itachi spared often, and helped each other train and grow stronger. Shisui suggested methods of meditation that could help with Itachi's moments of fogginess and instability, and in turn, Itachi showed Shisui how to cook. He did it all the time for his brother, after all. 

As Itachi lay, sprawled out in the overgrown recreational grounds, a cluster of poppies laying on his chest, he felt a presence. He could practically taste the familiar chakra, and sent a careful wave of his own out to let the visitor know he sensed them.

The presence vanished for a moment, but then was back again, this time closer. Itachi blinked his eyes open and turned his gaze over at the man standing over him. 

Itachi had known Shisui for a long time. He still remembered when the other nin was just a clumsy little boy with a deep, dark shadow. He always had beautiful eyes, though. And as an adult, he seemed to have grown into them. Shisui had let his hair grow out a bit. Now, it was long enough to be pulled back into a small, curly ponytail. Itachi had been quite delighted to know that Shisui's mother had naturally curly hair, as he was only half Uchiha. She passed that trait onto him, which made for some very cute, loose curls, turning in toward his cheeks and eyes. 

"Itachi-kun," Shisui said, his voice soft and low. He knelt, his legs straddling Itachi's thighs. "Tearing up poppies again?"

Shisui reached down and picked one of the flowers off of his friends chest. Itachi felt the soft brush of his fingers, his heart leaping at the contact. He watched Shisui's almost dainty fingers draw the flower up to his face to take in it's delicate aroma. A blush rose to his cheeks, and ran down his neck.

"Maybe." Itachi muttered, even though it was clear that he had. Itachi knew the seeds could be dangerous, a natural painkiller that you could amplify by soaking it in water. But sometimes he just popped a few in his mouth for fun. It helped him meditate. 

"Remember what I said the other day, by the garden?" Shisui asked, setting the flower aside, then picking up the rest one after another, until Itachi's chest was cleared of them. The younger boy tried to remember, but Shisui's legs pressed up against him was making his head swim.

Shisui leaned down until they were chest to chest. He trailed his hands up Itachi's sides, making him shiver in delight.

"If you rip up all the poppies, then there will be none left for anyone else." He continued, his voice just a whisper now. He rested his forehead against Itachi's, his eyes nothing but slant crescent moons as they watched the younger boys mouth. Itachi's tongue darted over his lips unconsciously.

"But I don't want to share them," he said, his voice taking on a bit of a possessive tone. He reached up and gripped Shisui's hair loosely in his fist. And his hips shifted slightly where they were pinned to the grass. "The poppies are mine. And mine alone."

"Oh, I see." Shisui said, his voice a sultry purr. He nudged Itachi's cheek with his nose. And moved his legs so that they were between the younger boy's, which parted so easily for him, and only him. "And what of the poppies? Do you belong to them?"

Itachi made a soft noise at the back of his throat. Halfway between a plea and a demand. The breeze ruffled the grass around them, casting pollen into the sky.

"I do."


	6. blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au where itachi awakened his sharingan when he first got to hold sasuke.

They say it's in my blood. 

This hatred.

The sky was a clear, light blue that day. I remember. The day exists in haunting clarity in my mind, even when the rest of my childhood falls away. My father’s grip on my wrist was hard enough to leave a circlet of bruises for a week, and when he tossed me ahead of him, I was too clumsy to stand. I fell, bracing myself against the cold ground. 

I remember the bodies. Pale, stiff figures littering the ground like a spatter of white and red paint on a landscape. Some were mangled, others just lied there, like they were simply asleep. And some had this fear on their face, frozen that way, the terror of their end following them into death. I remember that none of those petrified faces were Uchiha. It was telling.

At home, I waited for my parents to be busy with other things, before I dashed off to the bathroom to throw up. My body was shaking like a leaf, and I could feel no warmth in my bones. Something in me changed after that. I was so afraid. So afraid of everything. I had violent night terrors of my family laid out in those fields, eyes wide open, but stiff with death. 

Not even a year after that, mother gave birth to my little brother. 

Sasuke Uchiha. Truly, I would not trade or hurt him for all the money in the world. The first time I got to hold him, he squirmed and squeezed my finger as hard as his little hands could muster. He was so very light, so delicate and innocent. His little, warm weight pressed against my chest as I held him made me feel so secure, so grounded. My mother said something, but I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was how I was going to protect him, my little brother. Protect him from the world, from the clan, from father.

All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through my head. I flinched, but then a heat started growing behind my eyes. I hurriedly handed Sasuke over to my mother and grabbed my face. The burn grew more intense, until it finally, finally dissipated. 

“Itachi?” my mother asked, concern heavy in her voice. Sasuke squirmed in her hold and started whimpering.

“It’s okay, mother,” I said, finally looking up at her. She gasped, seeing my eyes. My vision was red, as if I were seeing the world through tinted glass. 

The sharingan. Two tomoes. 

If my father didn’t think I was a prodigy before, he certainly believed so now. Awakening the sharingan at age five wasn’t completely unheard of, but it was rare at best. Many greater Uchiha have awakened their kekkei genkai much, much later. But the urge to protect my little brother had burned so brightly in me, that my blood responded with a gift. And I would use this gift to protect him, I would. No matter how hard my father pushed me, I would protect him. No matter what the clan said, I would protect him.

They say it’s in my blood, this hatred. 

And if it’s in mine, it will be in his.

But not if I can help it.


End file.
